Bones
by MinisteryOfMonsters
Summary: "Will you stay with me my love for another day? 'Cause I don't want to be alone, When I'm in this state." - What if Randall actually died, and Hershel had one last chance to say goodbye?


" _Will you stay with me my love for another day?_

 _'Cause I don't want to be alone,_

 _When I'm in this state."_

 **-xxx-**

Today, like every day, Hershel would gaze at the light through the cracks in the leaves and watch the sun rise and fall. The sweetened heat radiated through him and dulled his senses, taking him far away into the blurry sky. He couldn't think of any other time when all he could feel was this moment, like every moment.

He was leaving, packing his bags and scurrying away to wherever the road would take him. He felt distant in this place he once called home and any other place would suffice if he could feel anything else other than despair. He'd give anything to feel the longing happiness once more.

Randall was dead, he died a week ago.

That was it.

That was the reality of the world, a person was taken and now he bared the seconds and hours of the constant anguish. The image of his friends' eyes as he fell into the darkness and screamed in the void. Hershel couldn't remember if he even screamed himself as he watched the figure of his friend vanish. All he knew was that within seconds, moments of time, his hands were weightless.

Right now, as he stood, his gaze turned to the stone welded into the dirt under the familiar tree. The shadows danced upon its surface as the engravings had already collected rust and microbes from the air.

' _Randall Ascot,_

 _a beloved friend taken before his time_

 _forever will be missed'_

He wasn't sure how many times he read the words, passing though him like they were nothing but water falling through his palms. His eyes scrolled through the letters to take in their existence, their history.

He knelt before them and felt his fingertips follow the carvings.

It was real.

They never found his body, no remains to take back and bury in respect. All that was seen and left to serve, was a rock with words. They had no essence or soul, nothing to hold. There was nothing beneath the earth, nothing to feel or speak to.

Just a rock.

A _fucking_ rock.

He tried to think of something to say, a final goodbye to his fallen friend or a speech filled with gratitude of their companionship. But why bother? There was nothing there, just a name on a piece of earth that stood there with nothing to hold or take in. A last resort to hold whatever memory could be contained, if it even could be.

Randall wasn't here or anywhere. His body was lost, taken and torn apart.

Hershel, knowing his words meant nothing, sat upon the green earth and crossed his legs to remain as comfortable as he could. His arm moved absentmindedly to glance at the ticking contraption on his wrist.

 _4:00pm_

"Two hours." He spoke, a statement.

The wind picked up, a gentle hand against his shoulder.

He closed his eyes and relished in the temporary calmness.

 **-xxx-**

It was like the world had ceased, stopped in an instant. The clamour of the scene no longer persisted and the ringing in Hershel's ears rang in the stillness. When he's eyes opened, he stared at the location from which the rock laid.

Nothing.

Nothing but white.

The distance was clouded with fog, a blurry haze of light that led nowhere and seemingly to nothing. The young man stood, frowning at his new surroundings and thought about speaking, calling out to whatever would hear him. But it seemed like a pointless thing to do and as such, he denied the proposed action.

He didn't give it much thought as he walked, knowing that staying in one place was just as pointless. Even if the unclear path took him nowhere, it was better than nothing at all.

He wondered why he was calm, walking in a place that could only be described as Limbo. A place of nothing: no sound, time, space or anything. Only the young man himself seemed to be the only creature in this strange world. He wondered why he was Ok with that.

He felt something, a warmth within his heart and something he knew all too well. It called to him, pleading almost.

He ran.

He didn't know why, there was nothing but him other than the warmth that grew, burning in his chest. He craved it and called out to it with his eager and broken soul. He kept running, faster and faster until his heart pumped in his ears and his lungs had no air to carry.

He stopped, his footsteps echoing against the non-existent walls.

A sound.

Wind.

He took a few more steps, hearing his breath labour and struggle. He narrowed his gaze into the distance to see anything other than himself. He wished for a sign, a hopeful glimmer to break through the silence.

Something moved, tall and hunched.

It came into view and the man stopped, bewildered.

If he wasn't dreaming, he was sure that he was now. Nothing could explain the sight he witnessed before his very eyes and nothing would, or could ever, compare to it.

If he could describe it, he'd say the form was not completely human but rather a withering and ancient being. The skin was dark, wrinkled and dry with hands stretching beyond the length of its own body with long, slender claws. Its face took shape of that of an owl, a mask constructed of oak and settled neatly upon the creature's skull. Around its neck, fur upon fur nested against its shoulders, hiding the supposed neck that supported its lean bones and antlers were seen growing from the small cracks atop its forehead. Around it's body, vines and flowers had made their home in its skin and fur and blossomed with such beauty that no other flower could compare. On its back, wings hung lazily to the ground and were covered in brown feathers that reached to the skin before seemingly burning away, leaving a mark of where the signs of youth used to be.

Hershel was stunned, to say the least.

"Where am I?"

The creature stared at the human before it, towering over him despite its hunched figure.

It said nothing.

Hershel wasn't sure what he was expecting, an answer was the main reason he asked in the first place, but it seemed he neglected to note the absence of a mouth.

It raised its arm, a branch that reached out to him and he felt his body step back in anticipation and caution.

When the creature made no such movement to suggest ill thought, the young man adjusted himself and allowed the growing lump in his throat to be swallowed.

"I don't know where I am…"

When the creature made no action, Hershel debated running out of fear. His body, however, didn't waver or attempt to run. He felt that familiar presence illuminate around him, the warmth he had felt before. It stayed by him, a welcoming touch.

From the hands of the creature, came a vine that sprouted from its skin. It took shape, prospering.

A lily.

Its arm reached to the young man, an offering.

Hershel, feeling the warmth of the world accompany him, took the flower carefully and held it within his hands. His eyes studied it, as if unsure.

Nonetheless, he met the wooden face of the creature and mustered a smile.

"Thank you."

The creature nodded.

Metres away from the two, the clouds began to fade from the white void and take shape, colour sprouting from the blank floor they stood upon. It reached into the sky, spreading and growing.

The tree.

The creature turned, its arm open and beckoning the young man to proceed.

Despite his nerves, he did.

It was almost as if he never left as he watched the tree sway in the gentle breeze. It remained as it always did and the rock that held the name of his fallen friend stayed tied to the ground, motionless. The grass grew from the white, curling around the objects. Even with the accustomed scene rising and taking shape before his eyes, the world stood the same: blank and static.

Hershel walked to the stone, reading the words once more. Even now, they still felt unreal to him. A truth he wished never to accept.

The creature stood beside him, it too was gazing at the words.

"I guess you don't know him, do you?" Hershel asked.

The creature turned its head, bowing.

"He was my best friend," He scoffed, his eyes stinging. "My first friend."

The creature reached its hand to the grave, lightly touching the grass resting beside it and the young Layton watched as the vines grew from the earth and wrapped around the stone. Flowers bloomed, white as snow.

Hershel offered a brief smile in appreciation, laughing a little.

"I'm taking this awfully well, aren't I?"

The creatures head tilted.

"I haven't seen anything like you before, and I have no idea where I am. I guess, nothing really fazes me now."

A thought hit him, albeit momentarily, but it was long enough to consider and contemplate.

"Am I dead?"

The ancient creature, staring into the eyes of the withering youth, remained silent.

There was a noise, a crunch in the grass behind the tree that sparked Hershel's attention and the creature moved beyond him, reaching its hand to the sound.

A shadow was cast on the green earth, its figure moving but seemingly hesitant.

Hershel stood, waiting.

Then, as the familiar warmness began to soften his heart, the figure stepped out. A hand rested against the oak and the shine from their glasses glimmered, as they always did.

"Hey, Hersh."

Silence, long and constant. It wavered between them, sounds that wished to break through.

They didn't move, couldn't move.

A lily, new-born and delicate, fell from the comforting grasp of the young Layton as he stared in disbelief.

He didn't wait.

He ran to his friend and held him tight, heat colliding with another and all they could hear was the sound of their happiness and relief.

The creature stood by, content.

 **-xxx-**

The hillside began to take shape, painted onto the white canvas like water leaking and staining. The horizon spotted a small village well known to the two young boys, but it didn't hold true, for as the colour painted the world the notion of the surreal stayed with them.

It was a moment stopped in a single frame, denied change.

The creature stood beside the bark of the tree, focused on something else entirely. It left the boys be, allowing them the moment that was taken.

"This is _really_ weird."

Hershel smiled at his friend's voice, something he had truly taken for granted.

"You're telling me."

"I mean," The young Ascot brought his legs to his chest, seemingly untainted by unfortunate circumstance. "I don't remember much. And _that thing_ won't tell me anything."

"It won't say anything to me, either. It just—led me here."

"It brought you to me."

He nodded, accepting it to be the only reasonable response.

He had a thought, lingering inside. He didn't want to give it the time of day or bring it up in conversation. However, as his mind pondered, his tears wept.

"I don't know what to say."

Randall, unable to answer, offered a smile filled with sombre.

"I don't know how long we have."

"Just don't think about it."

"I'm _trying_."

He couldn't bare to look, to believe the sorrow in his friends' eyes.

"You—you _died_."

"Christ, Hershel- you don't think I know that?"

There was a second, they swore, when the blissful wind cooled and froze.

"Why did you make it do it? Why did you make me _watch_?"

"Hershel-"

"Why didn't you just take my hand?"

He tried to stay calm, for both their sakes. "You know why, that branch couldn't even support your weight- let alone _both of us_."

"So, your option was to _die_?"

"If it meant you'd live, yes!"

"I watched you fall, Randall! I watched you as you slipped away and- God I _can't do this_!"

He stood, suddenly, hearing the rustling of the grass beneath him. Randall remained, stunned and broken as he watched his dear friend wipe his eyes and put his hands through his muffled hair in a mixture of sadness and frustration. He didn't turn around, refusing to look. But the faint sniffling was enough to confirm.

Randall raised to his feet and found his mouth agape, trying to find the words to heal the hole that grew between them. Yet, as much as he tried, there was nothing he could say to make it better.

"Angela screamed at me."

His eyes rolled, caught on the figure before him.

"I tried—I tried to explain. But, she wouldn't listen. Each day, I tried to tell her how sorry I was but I just—I _can't_ do this anymore."

He listened, it was the only thing he could do.

"I just can't, not anymore…"

His voice was low, withering against the silent tide.

He turned, eyes bleeding.

"Come back."

"I can't."

"Just- just come back if—if you're talking to me now then there must be a way-"

"Stop it-"

"You can't just leave like this!"

"Hershel just _stop_!"

The outburst was involuntary, unwanted in the current situation. Still, they couldn't help the bubbling fear within them and Randall couldn't turn away from the faltering expression of his friend. The young Ascot reached, taking the teen's hands and resting his head against his. He grounded him, providing the smallest glimpse of comfort he could offer. He felt against his skin, cold and smooth.

"I don't want to lose you."

At the words, Randall nearly broke.

"I'm not going anywhere," He whispered, softening his voice. "I'm right here, Hershel."

He remembered something, a spontaneous yet fond memory from his past.

"You remember the first time we met?"

Hershel sniffed, nodding.

"I remember you being so nervous. I came over to you, and—we just talked."

"What did we talk about?"

"I can't remember."

Hershel, despite himself, smiled and chuckled gently. "I can't either."

Randall held Hershel close, feeling against the skin of his hands.

"Do you remember the first time you discovered hair gel?"

It came to him, another blissful memory. It made him smile, almost peacefully.

"Yeah."

"You looked _ridicules._ "

He scoffed, his nose wet and sniffling. "I got used to it."

"Too bad that's an absolute lie."

His chest bubbled with laughter, and it hurt.

"Remember when you would sneak into my house every night?"

Hershel nodded. "Your father would find me the next morning, fuming like a kettle."

"To be fair, it was your own fault."

"You never said to leave."

"I never wanted you to."

A warmth emitted, soothing.

The young Layton faltered, his smile becoming faint.

"Remember the first time you fell in love?"

He paused, hands holding and resting against his chest.

There was no heartbeat.

"Yeah, I do."

His eyes, hidden behind glass, gazed into Hershel.

"Do you?"

His hand, once weak and limp in Randall's own grasp, tightened.

"Yes."

Silence, hesitation and fear.

They knew it, felt it and hit away from it.

In this moment, this one memory, they held each other and explored each and everyone of their burning souls.

The tight hold between them never faltered.

"You never said anything."

"I didn't know how. Angela loved you—she _still_ loves you."

Somehow, even when the world had frozen and the teens remained fixated, they leaned in.

"I told her, before we left."

Hershel shifted, his head looking further into his friend and feeling his hot breath against his lips.

They held tighter, trapped in an arm lock.

"I loved someone else."

Their lips brushed.

"Hershel…"

Tender, slow and heartfelt was all they knew within seconds. They swarmed, flowing freely with liberation.

They closed their eyes and allowed the longing desire to overcome them.

Randall's free hand rose, touching the surface of Hershel's cheek with reluctance before settling and wiping away the fallen tears that escaped his eyes as they fell. Hershel, inattentively, moved his own free hand to Randall's waist and gripped the cloth of his purple jacket.

They savoured the touch, the feeling of their lips pressing against each other with slow motions. They leaned in, feeling their heat against their own and taking in the relief that both of them existed and everything they endured was real and valid.

Before them, they treasured the scene, a new recollection.

When they pulled away and sucked in the air around them, their eyes never left, and their hands were rock hard in their grasp.

Hershel held his mouth in a tight and thin line, his tears never stopping.

"I love you."

Randall, unable to respond, leaned in and placed a tender yet lingering kiss on Hershel's forehead and leaned his own on the soft surface.

"I'm sorry I made you wait."

He had no more words to express, for this embrace was all that he desired.

The air turned stale.

A shadow creeped over them, causing them to turn in shock and realise the horrible truth.

Their time was up.

The creature towered over them, shivering their wings as if to awake them from their sleep. They reached out their hand, beckoning the Ascot teen.

Hershel rushed into action and stood in its wake, causing it to retract its hand in surprise.

"I _won't_ let you."

The creature stood, waiting.

"I love him."

Their head lifted.

"I _love_ him, and I won't let you take him from me."

The creature bowed its head, sorrowful.

A hand took his and he turned, meeting the eyes of his love.

When he smiled, accepting of his fate, Hershel dismissed it immediately.

"No, Randall please."

"I'm not an expert, Hershel. But I'm pretty sure people who die don't come back."

"I won't let you go!"

Randall, blessed in the presence of his love, smiled with his tears.

"I know you won't."

Hershel reached for him, refusing to let go.

"I don't want to say goodbye."

"No one does, Hersh.

"This isn't fair. I waited so long to tell you and _now_ —now I'll lose you."

He took his hands, feeling their surface.

"I'm never leaving you. It will take more than _bloody_ death to stop me."

The muscles shivered under Randall's grip, fearful.

"But you have to let me go, Hershel."

He remembered the darkness, the ruins of the lost civilisation. He remembered the platforms breaking and falling into the void and he watched as his love fell with them. It was no way to die, and he screamed for another way.

He stepped forward and curled his arms around Randall, who accepted them without protest. The young Layton rested his head against his shoulder and gripped the clothes situated on his friend. Randall leaned into Hershel's ear, biting his lips.

"I don't want to go either."

"Then stay."

"I can't, Hershel. You of all people should know that."

"But, what am I supposed to do without you?"

Randall pulled away, keeping a close distance as he did so.

"Live, that's all I can ask for. Live the life I couldn't and always be happy."

He stared at him, searching his soul.

"I'm glad I met you, Hershel Layton."

Briefly, but nevertheless tender, he kissed him for the last time.

Hershel leaned in, eager.

The warmth was fading.

His feet carried him as their lips parted, stepping away from the teen. Their hands remained, the last hurdle.

"I'll never forget you, Randall. I swear."

The Ascot teen smirked, as he used to. "I hope not."

Their hands slid, losing their grip.

They let go.

Hershel lingered.

The creature reached its hand and placed it upon Randall's shoulder gently. Its wings rose up, wide and full of life.

Randall turned, smiling.

"Can you promise me something, Hershel?"

"Anything."

His smile turned, devilish and childish.

"Promise not to cut your hair."

Hershel laughed, an intentional moment of happiness if it wasn't for his tears that choked him.

The wings sprouted, spreading around the ancient creature and the Ascot boy. Their eyes never left each other.

The painted world began to drizzle, washed away by the distant rain.

The last thing Hershel saw, before the wings wrapped around the fallen spirit and the white snow engulfed him, was Randall mouthing words that only he would understand.

"I love you, Hershel."

 **-xxx-**

He stayed there, for hours.

He was sure it was nearing the hour of sleep as the stars glimmered and the sunset settled below the horizon and left behind a collage of midnight blue, orange and red. The stone rested, untouched and naked with the engravings scratched with care.

Hershel reached out and felt the words run through his nerves into his broken heart. The comfort was gone, leaving behind a trail of mourning.

Somehow, even with Randall now passed the realm of the living, Hershel smiled.

Somehow, he felt he was there beyond the grave.

Watching.

He stood from the rock and stepped away, glancing at it once more.

"Goodbye, my love."

So, as the moon awoke from its slumber and illuminated the night sky, Hershel turned and made his way down the hill and to wherever fate would take him.

Beside the rock, roots began to seep from the grass and lean against the grave, curling and breathing life.

Among them, a flower blossomed amid its children.

Lilies.

 **-xxx-**

" _Will you stay with me my love? 'Til we're old and grey_

 _'Cause I don't wanna be alone_

 _When these_ _ **bones**_ _decay."_

 _ **Daughter - Run**_


End file.
